Introdcution to Shakespeare Final

Hamlet Barnardo and Francisco

A. Who's there?

B. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

A. Long live the King!

B. Barnardo?

A. He.

Hamlet Barnardo and Horatio

A. What, is Horatio there?

B. A piece of him.

Hamlet Horatio

What art thou that usurp'st this time of night

Hamlet Marcellus

Good now, sit down, and tell me he that knows,Why this same strict and most observant watchSo nightly toils the subject of the land ,And why such daily cast of brazen cannonAnd foreign mart for implements of war,Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore taskDoes not divide the Sunday from the week.What might be toward, that this sweaty hasteDoth make the night joint-labourer with the day ,Who is't that can inform me?

Hamlet Horatio

Our last king,Whose image even but now appeared to us,Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway,Thereto pricked on by a most emulate pride,Dared to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet—For so this side of our known world esteemed him—Did slay this Fortinbras, who by a sealed compact,Well ratified by law and heraldry,Did forfeit, with his life, all those his landsWhich he stood seized of, to the conqueror;Against the which a moiety competentWas gagèd by our king, which had returnedTo the inheritance* of Fortinbras,Had he been vanquisher; as, by the same cov'nant And carriage of the article designed,His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras,Of unimprovèd mettle hot and full,Hath in the skirts of Norway here and thereSharked up a list of landless resolutesFor food and diet, to some enterpriseThat hath a stomach in't, which is no other—As it doth well appear unto our state—But to recover of us, by strong handAnd terms compulsative, those foresaid landsSo by his father lost. And this, I take it,Is the main motive of our preparations,The source of this our watch and the chief headOf this post-haste and rummage in the land.

Hamlet Gertrude and Hamlet

A. Do not ever with thy vailèd lidsSeek for thy noble father in the dust.Thou know'st 'tis common —all that lives must die,Passing through nature to eternity.

B. Ay, madam, it is common .

A. If it be, Why seems it so particular with thee?

Hamlet Claudius

But you must know your father lost a father;That father lost, lost his; and the survivor boundIn filial obligation for some termTo do obsequious sorrow. But to perseverIn obstinate condolement is a courseOf impious stubbornness, 'tis unmanly grief ,It shows a will most incorrect to heaven[...] Fie, 'tis a fault to heaven,A fault against the dead, a fault to nature,To reason most absurd, whose common themeIs death of fathers [...][...] For your intentIn going back to school in Wittenberg,It is most retrograde to our desire

Hamlet Laertes

For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor,Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood,A violet in the youth of primy nature,Forward not permanent, sweet not lasting,The perfume and suppliance of a minute,No more.

Hamlet Hamlet

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve itself into a dew,Or that the Everlasting had not fixedHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on't! O fie, fie! 'Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!But two months dead—nay not so much, not two—So excellent a king, that was, to this,Hyperion to a satyr *; so loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,Must I remember? Why, she would hang on himAs if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on: and yet, within a month—Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman —A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she followed my poor father's body,Like Niobe,* all tears, why she, even she—O God, a beast, that wants discourse of reasonWould have mourned longer—married with my uncle,My father's brother, but no more like my fatherThan I to Hercules: within a month,Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing in her gallèd eyes,She married. O most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!It is not nor it cannot come to good.But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

Hamlet Ghost

I am thy father's spirit,Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,And for the day confined to fast in fires,Till the foul crimes done in my days of natureAre burnt and purged away.

Hamlet Polonius

There—my blessing with thee;And these few precepts in thy memorySee thou character .

Hamlet Laertes and Ophelia

A. Farewell, Ophelia, and remember wellWhat I have said to you.

B. 'Tis in my memory locked,And you shall keep the key of it.

Hamlet Ghost

Mark me.

Hamlet Ghost

Adieu, adieu, Hamlet. Remember me

Hamlet Hamlet

Remember thee?Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seatIn this distracted globe. Remember thee?Yea, from the table of my memoryI'll wipe away all trivial fond records,All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,That youth and observation copied there,And thy commandment all alone shall liveWithin the book and volume of my brain,Unmixed with baser matter. Yes, yes, by heaven!O most pernicious woman!O villain, villain, smiling damnèd villain!My tables,My tables—meet it is I set it downThat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.At least I'm sure it may be in Denmark. [Hewrites]So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word:It is "Adieu, adieu, remember me."I have sworn't.

Hamlet Hamlet and Gertrude

A. Ay, madam, it is common.

B. If it be,Why seems it so particular with thee?

A. Seems, madam? Nay, it is; I know not 'seems.''Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,Nor customary suits of solemn black,Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,That can denote me truly. These indeed seem,For they are actions that a man might play;But I have that within which passeth show;These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

Hamlet Hamlet

Now I am alone.O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!Is it not monstrous that this player here,But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,Could force his soul so to his own conceitThat from her working all his visage wanned,Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,A broken voice, and his whole function suitingWith forms to his conceit——and all for nothing!For Hecuba!What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,That he should weep for her? What would he doHad he the motive and the cue for passionThat I have? He would drown the stage with tearsAnd cleave the general ear with horrid speech,Make mad the guilty and appall the free,Confound the ignorant and amaze indeedThe very faculties of eyes and ears.[...]I have heardThat guilty creatures sitting at a playHave, by the very cunning of the scene,Been struck so to the soul that presentlyThey have proclaimed their malefactions;For murder, though it have no tongue, will speakWith most miraculous organ. I'll have these playersPlay something like the murder of my fatherBefore mine uncle. I'll observe his looks;I'll tent him to the quick. If he do blench,I know my course. The spirit that I have seenMay be a devil,and the devil hath powerT' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps,Out of my weakness and my melancholy,As he is very potent with such spirits,Abuses me to damn me. I'll have groundsMore relative than this. The play's the thingWherein I'll catch the conscience of the King.

Hamlet Hamlet and Ophelia

A. This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King

B. You are as good as a chorus, my lord.

Hamlet Hamlet

To be, or not to be——that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep——No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heartache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to——'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wished: to die, to sleep.To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause. There's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life.For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,The insolence of office, and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscovered country, from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the will,And makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,And enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turn awayAnd lose the name of action.——Soft you now,The fair Ophelia.——Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd.

Hamlet Hamlet

never, so help you mercy,How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself——As I perchance hereafter shall think meetTo put an antic disposition on——That you, such time as seeing me, never shall,With arms encumbered thus, or thus head shaked,Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase,As 'Well, we know,' or 'We could an if we would,'Or 'If we list to speak,' or 'There be an if they might,'Or such ambiguous giving out, to noteThat you know aught of me——this not to do,So grace and mercy at your most need help you,Swear.

Hamlet Polonius and Hamlet

A. What do you read, my lord?

B. Words, words, words

A. What is the matter, my lord

B. Between who?

A. I mean the matter you read, my lord.

Hamlet Claudius and Rosencrantz

A. And can you, by no drift of circumstance,Get from him why he puts on this confusion,Grating so harshly all his days of quietWith turbulent and dangerous lunacy?

B. He does confess he feels himself distracted;But from what cause he will by no means speak.

A. Nor do we find him forward to be sounded,But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof,When we would bring him on to some confessionOf his true state.

Hamlet Polonius

Ophelia, walk you here.——Gracious, so please you,We will bestow ourselves.——Read on this book,That show of such an exercise may colourYour loneliness. We are oft to blame in this,'Tis too much proved, that with devotion's visageAnd pious action we do sugar o'erThe devil himself.

Hamlet Hamlet

Yea, from the table of my memoryI'll wipe away all trivial fond records,All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past,That youth and observation copied there,And thy commandment all alone shall liveWithin the book and volume of my brain,Unmixed with baser matter.

Hamlet Hamlet

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,Thaw and resolve itself into a dew,Or that the Everlasting had not fixedHis canon 'gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God!How weary, stale, flat and unprofitableSeem to me all the uses of this world!Fie on't! O fie, fie! 'Tis an unweeded gardenThat grows to seed; things rank and gross in naturePossess it merely. That it should come to this!But two months dead—nay not so much, not two—So excellent a king, that was, to this,Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my motherThat he might not beteem the winds of heavenVisit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,Must I remember? Why, she would hang on himAs if increase of appetite had grownBy what it fed on: and yet, within a month—Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman—A little month, or ere those shoes were oldWith which she followed my poor father's body,Like Niobe,* all tears, why she, even she—O God, a beast, that wants discourse of reasonWould have mourned longer—married with my uncle,My father's brother, but no more like my fatherThan I to Hercules: within a month,Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tearsHad left the flushing in her gallèd eyes,She married. O most wicked speed, to postWith such dexterity to incestuous sheets!It is not nor it cannot come to good.But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

Hamlet Hamlet

Let me see. (He takes the skull) Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio, a fellow ofinfinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times.And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hungthose lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now, yourgambols, your songs, your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on aroar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chop-fallen? Now get you tomy lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she mustcome; make her laugh at that.

Hamlet Hamlet and Horatio

A. It is but foolery. But it is such a kind of gain-giving as would perhaps trouble a woman.

B. If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their repair hither, and say you are notfit.

A. Not a whit. We defy augury. There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it benow, 'tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come.The readiness is all. Since no man knows aught of what he leaves, what is't to leavebetimes

Hamlet Ophelia

O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword;The expectancy and rose of the fair state,The glass of fashion and the mould of form,The observed of all observers—quite, quite down!And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,That sucked the honey of his music vows,Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;That unmatched form and feature of blown youthBlasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me,To have seen what I have seen, see what I see!

Hamlet Laertes and Gertrude

A. Drowned? O where?

B. There is a willow grows aslant a brookThat shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.There with fantastic garlands did she comeOf crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purplesThat liberal shepherds give a grosser name,But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds*Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;When down her weedy trophies and herselfFell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, And, mermaid-like awhile they bore her up;Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,As one incapable of her own distress,Or like a creature native and induedUnto that element. But long it could not beTill that her garments, heavy with their drink,Pulled the poor wretch from her melodious layTo muddy death.

B. Alas, then is she drowned.

A. Drowned, drowned.

Hamlet Hamlet and Guildenstern

A. The King is a thing—

B. A thing, my lord?

A. Of nothing.

Hamlet Claudius and Hamlet

A. What dost thou mean by this?

B. Nothing but to show you how a kingmay go a progress through the guts of a beggar.

Hamlet Ophelia and Hamlet

A. think nothing, my lord.

B. That's a fair thought to lie betweenmaids' legs.

A. What is, my lord?

B. Nothing.

Hamlet Horatio

Her speech is nothing;Yet the unshapèd use of it doth moveThe hearers to collection.

Hamlet Laertes

This nothing's more than matter.

Hamlet Hamlet

What a piece of work is a man, how noble inreason, how infinite in faculty, in form andmoving how express and admirable, in actionhow like an angel, in apprehension how like agod—the beauty of the world, the paragon ofanimals! And yet, to me, what is thisquintessence of dust? Man delights notme—no, nor woman neither, though by yoursmiling you seem to say so.

Hamlet Hamlet

He hath much land, and fertile. Let a beastbe lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand atthe king's mess. 'Tis a chough, but, as I say,spacious in the possession of dirt.

Hamlet Claudius and Hamlet

A. Now, Hamlet, where is Polonius?

B. At supper.

A. At supper? Where?

B. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of politic worms ar e'en at him.Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselvesfor maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service—two dishes, but to onetable. That's the end.

Hamlet Clown 1 and Clown 2

A. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentleman butgardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold upAdam's profession. (He digs)

B. Was he a gentleman?

A. He was the first that ever bore arms.

B. Why, he had none.

A. What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand theScripture? The Scripture says 'Adam digged': couldhe dig without arms?

Hamlet Clown 2 and Clown 1

A. Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

B. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

A. Marry, now I can tell.

B. To't.

A. Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, at a distance

B. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and,when you are asked this question next, say 'a grave-maker': the houses that he makes last tilldoomsday.

Hamlet Fortinbras

I have some rights of memory in this kingdom,Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me.

Hamlet Ophelia

Good night, ladies. Good night, sweet ladies, goodnight, good night

Hamlet Horatio

Good night, sweet prince

Othello Iago

Despise me, if I do not. Three great ones of the city,In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,Off-capp'd to him: and, by the faith of man,I know my price, I am worth no worse a place:But he; as loving his own pride and purposes,Evades them, with a bombast circumstanceHorribly stuff'd with epithets of war;And, in conclusion,Nonsuits my mediators; for, 'Certes,' says he,'I have already chose my officer.'And what was he?Forsooth, a great arithmetician,One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife;That never set a squadron in the field,Nor the division of a battle knowsMore than a spinster; unless the bookish theoric,Wherein the toged consuls can proposeAs masterly as he: mere prattle, without practise,Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election:And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proofAt Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other groundsChristian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and calm'dBy debitor and creditor: this counter-caster,He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,And I—God bless the mark!—his Moorship's ancient.

Othello Iago

Awake! What ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags !Thieves, thieves!

Othello Iago

Zounds, sir, you're robbed. For shame, put on your gown!Your heart is burst. You have lost half your soul.Even now, now, very now, an old black ramIs tupping your white ewe . Arise, arise!Awake the snorting citizens with the bell,Or else the devil will make a grandsire of you.Arise, I say!

Othello Brabantio

What, have you lost your wits?

Othello Brabantio

What tell'st thou me of robbing? This is Venice:My house is not a grange.

Othello Brabantio

This accident is not unlike my dream ;Belief of it oppresses me already.

Othello Roderigo and Brabantio

A. My name is Roderigo.

B. The worser welcome:I have charged thee not to haunt about my doors:In honest plainness thou hast heard me sayMy daughter is not for thee

Othello Brabantio

O heaven, how got she out? O, treason of the blood!Fathers, from hence trust not your daughters' mindsBy what you see them act. Is there not charmsBy which the property of youth and maidhoodMay be abused? Have you not read, Roderigo,Of some such thing?

Othello Othello

Let him do his spite:My services which I have done the SignoryShall out-tongue his complaints.

Othello Othello

My parts, my title, and my perfect soulShall manifest me rightly.

Othello Othello

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them.

Othello Duke and Othello

A. Say it, Othello

B. Her father loved me; oft invited me;Still question'd me the story of my life,From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes,That I have passed.I ran it through, even from my boyish days,To the very moment that he bade me tell it;Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances,Of moving accidents by flood and fieldOf hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly breach,Of being taken by the insolent foeAnd sold to slavery, of my redemption thenceAnd portance in my travels' history:Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle,Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heavenIt was my hint to speak,--such was the process;And of the Cannibals that each other eat,The Anthropophagi and men whose headsDo grow beneath their shoulders. This to hearWould Desdemona seriously incline:But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,She'ld come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse: which I observing,Took once a pliant hour, and found good meansTo draw from her a prayer of earnest heartThat I would all my pilgrimage dilate,Whereof by parcels she had something heard,But not intentively: I did consent,And often did beguile her of her tears,When I did speak of some distressful strokeThat my youth suffer'd. My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake:She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,And I loved her that she did pity them.This only is the witchcraft I have used:Here comes the lady; let her witness it.

Othello Brabantio

A maiden never bold;Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motionBlush'd at herself ; and she, in spite of nature,Of years, of country, credit, every thing,To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on!It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfectThat will confess perfection so could errAgainst all rules of nature, and must be drivenTo find out practises of cunning hell,Why this should be. I therefore vouch againThat with some mixtures powerful o'er the blood,Or with some dram conjured to this effect,He wrought upon her.

Othello Othello

This to hearWould Desdemona seriously incline :But still the house-affairs would draw her thence:Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,She'd come again, and with a greedy earDevour up my discourse : [...][...] My story being done,She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:She swore, in faith, twas strange, 'twas passing strange,'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wish'dThat heaven had made her such a man: she thank'd me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my story.And that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake.She loved me for the dangers I had pass'd,And I loved her that she did pity them.

Othello Iago

I hate the Moor:And it is thought abroad, that 'twixt my sheetsHe has done my office : I know not if't be true;But I, for mere suspicion in that kind,Will do as if for surety. He holds me well;The better shall my purpose work on him.Cassio's a proper man: let me see now:To get his place and to plume up my willIn double knavery--How, how? Let's see:--After some time, to abuse Othello's earThat he is too familiar with his wife.He hath a person and a smooth disposeTo be suspected, framed to make women false.The Moor is of a free and open nature,That thinks men honest that but seem to be so,And will as tenderly be led by the noseAs asses are.I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and nightMust bring this monstrous birth to the world's light.

Othello Montano and Gentleman

A. What from the cape can you discern at sea?

B. Nothing at all: it is a high-wrought flood;I cannot 'twixt the heaven and the mainDescry a sail.

Othello Iago

O, sir, content you;I follow him to serve my turn upon him:We cannot all be masters, nor all mastersCannot be truly follow'd. You shall markMany a duteous and knee-crooking knave,That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,Wears out his time, much like his master's ass,For nought but provender, and when he's old, cashier'd:Whip me such honest knaves. Others there areWho, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty,Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,And, throwing but shows of service on their lords,Do well thrive by them and when they have lined their coatsDo themselves homage: these fellows have some soul;And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,It is as sure as you are Roderigo,Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:In following him, I follow but myself;Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,But seeming so, for my peculiar end:For when my outward action doth demonstrateThe native act and figure of my heartIn compliment extern, 'tis not long afterBut I will wear my heart upon my sleeveFor daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

Othello Iago and Desdemona

A. Come on, come on! You are pictures out of doors;Bells in your parlours; wild-cats in your kitchens;Saints in your injuries; devils being offended;Players in your housewifery; and housewivesIn your beds.

B. O, fie upon thee, slanderer!

A. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk:You rise to play, and go to bed to work.

Othello Desdemona and Iago

A. I am not merry; but I do beguileThe thing I am by seeming otherwise.Come, how wouldst thou praise me?

B. I am about it; but indeed my inventionComes from my pate as birdlime does from frieze—It plucks out brains and all. But my Muse labours,And thus she is delivered:If she be fair and wise: fairness and wit,The one's for use, the other useth it.

A. Well praised! How if she be black and witty?

B. If she be black and thereto have a wit,She'll find a white that shall her blackness hit.

A. Worse and worse

Othello Iago

That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it;That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great credit:The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not,Is of a constant, loving, noble nature,And I dare think he'll prove to DesdemonaA most dear husband. Now, I do love her too;Not out of absolute lust, though peradventureI stand accountant for as great a sin,But partly led to diet my revenge,For that I do suspect the lusty MoorHath leap'd into my seat; the thought whereofDoth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards;And nothing can or shall content my soulTill I am even'd with him, wife for wife,Or failing so, yet that I put the MoorAt least into a jealousy so strongThat judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do,If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trashFor his quick hunting, stand the putting on,I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip,Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb—For I fear Cassio with my night-cap too—Make the Moor thank me, love me and reward meFor making him egregiously an assAnd practising upon his peace and quietEven to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused:Knavery's plain face is never seen till used.

Othello Iago

And what's he then that says I play the villain?When this advice is free I give and honest,Probal to thinking and indeed the courseTo win the Moor again? For 'tis most easyThe inclining Desdemona to subdueIn any honest suit: she's framed as fruitfulAs the free elements. And then for herTo win the Moor—were't to renounce his baptism,All seals and symbols of redeemed sin,His soul is so enfetter'd to her love,That she may make, unmake, do what she list,Even as her appetite shall play the godWith his weak function. How am I then a villainTo counsel Cassio to this parallel course,Directly to his good? Divinity of hell!When devils will the blackest sins put on,They do suggest at first with heavenly shows,As I do now: for whiles this honest foolPlies Desdemona to repair his fortunesAnd she for him pleads strongly to the Moor,I'll pour this pestilence into his ear,That she repeals him for her body's lust;And by how much she strives to do him good,She shall undo her credit with the Moor.So will I turn her virtue into pitch,And out of her own goodness make the netThat shall enmesh them all.

Othello Cassio

Reputation, reputation, reputation!O, I have lost my reputation. I havelost the immortal part of myself,and what remains is bestial. Myreputation, Iago, my reputation!

Othello Cassio

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouthsto steal away their brains; that we should, with joy,pleasance, revel, and applause, transform ourselvesinto beasts!

Othello Iago

.. an old black ramIs tupping your white ewe... you'll have your daughter covered with a Barbaryhorse... your daughter and the Moor are now making thebeast with two backs

Othello Brabantio

...thou hast enchanted herShe is abused, stolen from me, and corruptedBy spells and medicines bought of mountebanks.For nature so preposterously to err—Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense—Sans witchcraft could not.

Othello Desdemona

Assure thee,If I do vow a friendship I'll perform itTo the last article. My lord shall never rest,I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience;His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift;I'll intermingle every thing he doesWith Cassio's suit. Therefore be merry, Cassio,For thy solicitor shall rather dieThan give thy cause away.

Othello Desdemona

Why then tomorrow night, or Tuesday morn,On Tuesday noon, or night, on Wednesday morn—I prithee name the time, but let it notExceed three days. Iʼfaith he's penitent;And yet his trespass, in our common reason—Save that, they say, the wars must make exampleOut of her best—is not almost a faultTʼincur a private check. When shall he come?Tell me, Othello! I wonder in my soul,What you would ask me, that I should deny,Or stand so mammʼring on. What? Michael Cassio,That came a-wooing with you, and so many a time,When I have spoke of you dispraisingly,Hath ta'en your part—to have so much to doTo bring him in! Byʼr Lady, I could do much—

Othello Othello

she thanked me,And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,I should but teach him how to tell my storyAnd that would woo her. Upon this hint I spake

Othello Iago and Othello

A. My noble lord—

B. What dost thou say, Iago?

A. Did Michael Cassio, when you wooed my lady,Know of your love?

B. He did, from first to last—Why dost thou ask?

A. But for a satisfaction of my thought;No further harm.

B. Why of thy thought, Iago?

A. I did not think he had been acquainted with her.

B. O, yes; and went between us very oft.

A. Indeed?

B. Indeed? Ay, indeed: discern'st thou aught in that?Is he not honest?

A. Honest, my lord?

B. Honest? Ay, honest.

A. My lord, for aught I know.

B. What dost thou think?

A. Think, my lord?

B. "Think, my lord"? By heaven, thou echo'st me,As if there were some monster in thy thoughtToo hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean something:I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not that,When Cassio left my wife: what didst not like?And when I told thee he was of my counselIn my whole course of wooing, thou criedst "Indeed?"And didst contract and purse thy brow together,As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brainSome horrible conceit: if thou dost love me,Show me thy thought.

A. My lord, you know I love you.

B. I think thou dost;And, for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty,And weigh'st thy words before thou giv'st them breath,Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:For such things in a false disloyal knaveAre tricks of custom, but in a man that's justThey are close dilations, working from the heartThat passion cannot rule.

A. For Michael Cassio,I dare be sworn I think that he is honest.

B. I think so too.

A. Men should be what they seem;Or those that be not, would they might seem none!

B. Certain, men should be what they seem.

Othello Brabantio

Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes to see:She has deceived her father, and may thee.

Othello Iago

She did deceive her father, marrying you;And when she seemed to shake and fear your looks,She loved them most.

Othello Brabantio

... and she—in spite of nature,Of years, of country, credit, everything—To fall in love with what she feared to look on?It is a judgement maimed and most imperfectThat will confess perfection so could errAgainst all rules of nature

Othello Othello

And yet how nature, erring from itself—

Othello Othello

Haply, for I am blackAnd have not those soft parts of conversationThat chamberers have, or for I am declinedInto the vale of years—yet that's not much—She's gone, I am abused, and my reliefMust be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,That we can call these delicate creatures ours,And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad,And live upon the vapour of a dungeon,Than keep a corner in the thing I loveFor others' uses.

Othello Othello

Her name, that was as freshAs Dianʼs visage, is now begrimed and blackAs mine own face.

Othello Desdemona and Othello

A. Are you not well?

B. I have a pain upon my forehead, here.

A. Faith, thatʼs with watching; ʼtwill away again.Let me but bind it hard, within this hourIt will be well.

B. Your napkin is too little.(She drops her handkerchief.)

Othello Emilia and Iago

A. I have a thing for you.

B. You have a thing for me? It is a common thing—

A. Ha?

B. To have a foolish wife.

A. O, is that all? What will you give me nowFor that same handkerchief?

B. What handkerchief?

A. What handkerchief?Why that the Moor first gave Desdemona,That which so often you did bid me steal.

Othello Emilia and Iago

A. I have a thing for you.

B. You have a thing for me? It is a common thing

Othello Iago

Trifles light as airAre to the jealous confirmations strongAs proofs of holy writ

Othello Iago

with as little a web as this will I ensnare as greata fly as Cassio

Othello Iago

Her honour is an essence thatʼs not seen,They have it very oft that have it not.But, for the handkerchief—

Othello Iago

As I am an honest man, I thought you had receivedsome bodily wound; there is more of sense in that than inʻreputation.ʼ ʻReputationʼ is an idle and most falseimposition, oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.You have lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourselfsuch a loser.

Othello Iago

Good name in man—and woman—dear my lord,Is the immediate jewel of their souls;Who steals my purse, steals trash; ʼtis something nothing;ʼTwas mine, ʼtis his, and has been slave to thousands.But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.

Othello Othello and Desdemona

A. That handkerchiefDid an Egyptian to my mother give.She was a charmer, and could almost readThe thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it,'Twould make her amiable and subdue my fatherEntirely to her love—but if she lost it,Or made gift of it, my father's eyeShould hold her loathed, and his spirits should huntAfter new fancies. She, dying, gave it me,And bid me, when my fate would have me wive,To give it her. I did so; and take heed on't,Make it a darling like your precious eye;To lose't or give't away were such perditionAs nothing else could match.

B. Isʼt possible?

A. 'Tis true; there's magic in the web of it:A sibyl, that had numbered in the worldThe sun to course two hundred compasses,In her prophetic fury sewed the work;The worms were hallowed that did breed the silk;And it was dyed in mummy which the skilfulConserved of maidens' hearts.

B. Iʼfaith, is't true?

A. Most veritable; therefore look to't well.

Othello Othello

O, now, for everFarewell the tranquil mind; farewell content;Farewell the plumed troops, and the big warsThat make ambition virtue—O, farewell!Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump,The spirit-stirring drum, th'ear-piercing fife,The royal banner, and all quality,Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war;And O you mortal engines, whose rude throatsTh'immortal Jove's dead clamours counterfeit,Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone

Othello Desdemona

My lord is not my lord

Othello Lodovico

Is this the noble Moor , whom our full SenateCall all in all sufficient? Is this the natureWhom passion could not shake?

Othello Emilia and Desdemona

A. O, who hath done this deed?

B. Nobody—I myself.

Othello Othello

O, O, O!

Othello Othello

That's he that was Othello: here I am

Othello Emilia and Cassio and Bianca

A. I am glad I have found this napkin:This was her first remembrance from the Moor:My wayward husband hath a hundred timesWoo'd me to steal it; but she so loves the token,For he conjured her she should ever keep it,That she reserves it evermore about herTo kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en out,And give't Iago: what he will do with itHeaven knows, not I;I nothing but to please his fantasy.

B. Take me this work out.

C. O Cassio, whence came this?This is some token from a newer friend:To the felt absence now I feel a cause:Is't come to this? Well, well.

B. Go to, woman!Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth,From whence you have them. You are jealous nowThat this is from some mistress, some remembrance:No, in good troth, Bianca.

C. Why, whose is it?

B. I know not, sweet: I found it in my chamber.I like the work well: ere it be demanded—As like enough it will—I'ld have it copied:Take it, and do't; and leave me for this time.

Othello Emilia

O thou dull Moor! that handkerchief thou speak'st ofI found by fortune and did give my husband;For often, with a solemn earnestness,More than indeed belong'd to such a trifle,He begg'd of me to steal it.

Othello Othello

Make it a darling like your precious eye;To lose't or give't away were such perditionAs nothing else could match

Othello Desdemona and Othello

A. What's the matter?

B. That handkerchief which I so loved and gave theeThou gavest to Cassio

Othello Othello

It was a handkerchief, an antique tokenMy father gave my mother

Othello Iago

Trifles light as airAre to the jealous confirmations strongAs proofs of holy writ

Othello Iago and Othello

A. 'Faith, that he did—I know not what he did.

B. What? what?

A. Lie

B. With her?

A. With her, on her—what you will.

B. Lie with her? Lie on her? We say 'lie on her'when they belie her. Lie with her? Swounds,that's fulsome! Handkerchief — confessions —handkerchief? To confess, and be hanged for hislabour? First to be hanged and then to confess! Itremble at it. Nature would not invest herself insuch shadowing passion without someinstruction. It is not words that shakes me thus.Pish! Noses, ears, and lips! Is't possible? Confess?Handkerchief? O, devil!He falls down in a trance

A. Work on, my medicine, work!

Othello Emilia and Desdemona

A. I would you had never seen him.

B. So would not I: my love doth so approve him,That even his stubbornness, his cheques, his frowns—Prithee, unpin me,—have grace and favour in them.

A. I have laid those sheets you bade me on the bed.

B. All's one. Good faith, how foolish are our minds!If I do die before thee, prithee shroud meIn one of those same sheets

A. Come, come you talk!

B. My mother had a maid called Barbary:She was in love, and he she loved proved madAnd did forsake her: she had a song of 'willow;'An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune,And she died singing it. That song tonightWill not go from my mind. I have much to do,But to go hang my head all at one sideAnd sing it like poor Barbary. Prithee, dispatch

A. Shall I go fetch your nightgown?

B. No, unpin me here.This Lodovico is a proper man

A. A very handsome man.

B. He speaks well.

A. I know a lady in Venice would have walked barefootto Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.